


People Like Us

by JessieBlackwood



Series: People Like Us [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Sequel to Bonfire Heart, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-15
Updated: 2018-07-12
Packaged: 2019-03-31 12:50:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13975506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JessieBlackwood/pseuds/JessieBlackwood
Summary: Mycroft and Greg get together after Greg returns from serving with MSF. However, all is not well, but Mycroft is there with support and help, and could it be love?





	1. We Don't Need Much...

**Author's Note:**

> I recommend you read Bonfire Heart before this one, then you will know what is going on. This follows on directly after Mycroft picks Greg up from the airport in the Bonfire Heart Epilogue.

Despite himself, it wasn't long before Greg's eyes were drooping and he was fighting to stay awake. It didn’t take a man of Mycroft’s intellect to see that Gregory was exhausted by the flight and the last few weeks were rapidly catching up with him. They were well fed, relaxed and content with their revelations to each other. There was nothing left that need be said. Mycroft had no compunction about dispatching Greg to one of the guest rooms where a warm comfortable bed awaited him, as promised, and then Mycroft left him to his own devices. The walk to his own room across the landing, however, was a distinctly lonely one. Despite the fact that Greg Lestrade was in his house, in a bed a scant few yards away, Mycroft felt somewhat adrift. The thought that the man was finally under his roof, after so many weeks wondering and worrying what might happen to him, thoughts at the mercy of his overactive imagination, well… _It was intoxicating,_ he thought. Now it had been confirmed that Greg wanted to explore a relationship with him, by the man telling Mycroft that he would be passing his case permanently across to Rayne, well… Mycroft wasn’t sure what to do. _Will this be a passing thing for Gregory, something he needs to work out of his system? Will it work between us? Are we compatible enough? After all, we did begin as mortal enemies..._

Mycroft got himself ready for bed and lay between the warm blankets staring at the ceiling, unable to find sleep. Light—whether from the moon or street lights outside—cast a few pale rays across the ceiling, occasionally intersected by the headlamps of passing cars that arced across his field of vision and were gone as fast as they appeared. It began to rain, a light hissing sound at first, and then the first roll of thunder accompanied it. Mycroft sighed, knowing that, elusive as sleep had been, it would be bloody impossible to find now. He was restless and unsettled by the fact that the object of his affections was so close, and yet so damn far away; across a corridor, safe behind a bedroom door, sound asleep, untouchable.

Somewhere around one AM, the rain had not abated when Mycroft thought he heard something above the constant pattering of drops on his window. He strained to hear but gave up and went to see if he could locate it instead. It was coming from Greg’s room. Distressed whimpering and low moans reached his ears. Mycroft realised uncomfortably that he had no idea what to do next. He rested his hand on the door handle, unsure whether to open it and go check on his guest, or whether that would be considered an invasion of privacy…. He was about to enter when he heard a groan, and then rustling, followed by soft footfalls, quickly followed by the ensuite light and air vent turning on. _Ah, well, awake then._ Mycroft retreated to his room before Gregory realised he was there. 

Half an hour later, Mycroft was immediately on high alert when he heard his door click open. He had been dozing, rather than properly sleeping. He waited until the door had opened sufficiently to allow ingress, allowing the shape to become more distinct until it resolved itself into a shadowy version of his guest. In the darkness there was probably no way Gregory could see if he was awake, and so Mycroft kept still, keeping his breathing even, waiting to see what would happen. The man moved to the bed, and Mycroft kept his eyes closed, his breathing slow. Gingerly, Greg lifted the covers and sat down carefully, then slid himself in beside Mycroft, his back to him. He made no sound, just a relieved little sigh. In moments his breathing evened out, and he fell soundly asleep. 

Ages later, Mycroft woke to the bed moving gently as Greg got up, carefully doing his best not to disturb his host. Mycroft again kept his eyes closed, as though nothing had happened. He heard the door click, then rolled over, noting that the bedside clock said it was 6.15am. The warm space where Greg had lain smelled faintly of him, of his hair and his aftershave and Greg’s own distinct scent; warm, slightly woodsy, very male. Mycroft could not sleep after that so he got up and padded to the kitchen, only to find a mussed and sleepy Greg making drinks. 

“Good morning,” Mycroft offered airily, doing his best to appear unconcerned.

“Morning.” Greg was wary, pouring water onto the teabags and carefully ignoring the man who had come up beside him.

“Is one of those for me?”

“Er...yeah. I was awake...so I figured…” 

“Good idea, we can bring them back to bed.” The look Greg shot him would have been comical, if he hadn’t looked so worried. “Did you sleep well?” Mycroft asked.

“I...er...yeah, okay, I guess…” 

“You don’t sound confident of that, and I have to say, you do not look your best, Gregory. Was the bed alright for you? Comfortable enough?” For a moment, Greg looked at him as if assessing whether Mycroft had realised but Mycroft looked innocently blank and smiled encouragingly. 

“It was...fine, yes, thanks.”

“Good.” There was a pregnant pause as Greg stirred the tea and Mycroft waited. “Is anything the matter, Greg?” Mycroft prompted gently.

“No, no, not at all. Why?”

“You seems a little distracted. I think you should have more sleep, don’t you? Take your drink back to bed with you and relax. You are on holiday, and so am I. We can take the opportunity to rest as much as we wish. There’s no rush, unless you are hungry.”

“No, not hungry yet. I’m fine for now.” Greg took his tea and made his way back to bed, his own bed. Mycroft watched him go, wondering why it bothered the man so much that Mycroft mustn’t know about him crawling into his bed at two in the morning. _Surely he must have been prepared to deal with me waking up and finding him there? Or maybe he was just too tired to care and is now regretting his actions?_

Instead of ignoring it, Mycroft followed Greg to his bedroom and waited for him to get settled. 

“Gregory?” he asked from the door, watching the man settle himself between the covers before reaching for his tea.

“Uh...Yeah?”

“Are you quite alright? I mean…” he sipped his tea for distraction purposes. “Not wanting to rush things, but it seems rather silly, beginning a relationship and then…” He shrugged. “Are we not up to sharing a bed quite yet?” 

“I thought it was maybe too soon…”

“Well, we have kissed, and made our intentions clear. Why should we not progress to a more intimate relationship? Assuming both parties agree, that is.”

Greg regarded him for a moment. “Mycroft...I have something to confess...Last night...I...I was a bit...well, _restless_. The storm… Couldn’t sleep and I....well, I slipped into your bedroom and…”

“So it wasn’t a dream,” Mycroft lied easily. He smiled, reassuringly. “You should have asked me. I wouldn’t have said no.”

“I was too tired. I’m sorry…I just...needed company?”

“Gregory, you need to learn to trust me. Of course it was alright. But…” He fixed Greg with a look. “I need you to be honest with me, Gregory.” 

“Eh?”

“Completely honest. Especially as we are embarking upon a commitment to each other that requires communication to make it work. You were not merely _restless_ , were you?”

Greg was silent for a while, sitting in his bed, just staring. Then he shook his head like a small boy caught in a lie. “I’ve been getting...nightmares, I guess you could call them. Disturbing dreams at best. Sorry…I think the storm last night triggered it.”

“Pish. You never need to apologize for nightmares, Gregory. They are not under your control and it is easy to see where they originate from.”

“Yeah, well….It’s not something I wanted to inflict upon you.”

“Gregory. Your choice of words… If we are in partnership, then you are not _inflicting_ anything on me. I would freely choose to help you carry those burdens, if you can trust me to do so. Is that not what partners do?”

“We’re partners? You and me, together?”

“I thought we had crossed that bridge already.” 

“Yeah but...hearing you say it, it’s...nice.” Greg smiled with affection. “It’s really nice.”

“Come to bed, Gregory,” Mycroft invited. 

“What, now?”

“No time like the present.” Mycroft waited as Greg levered himself out of his bed and padded across the floor to the door. “Follow me,” he said, gently, and walked into his room, Greg following dutifully behind. 

Mycroft crossed to his bed and put his tea down on the bedside table, then climbed under the covers. He turned to see Gregory looking a little forlorn, standing there uncertainly on the threshold. There was a very close resemblance to an adult-sized toddler wanting to climb into his parents’ bed, but Gregory was about as far from being a toddler as was possible to be and in no way did Mycroft consider himself a parent. 

“You sure this is okay?” Greg asked again, a little uncertain. “I mean...I don’t have to. Wouldn’t want you to feel uncomfortable… but....”

Mycroft spurred himself to movement, tugging on the duvet, lifting it in invitation. “Of course I do not feel uncomfortable, Gregory,” he said. “Come on.” Greg shuffled to the side of the bed and sat down, placing his own tea on the bedside cabinet on his side of the bed, before swinging his feet under the duvet. They sat together like that for a while, in silence, sipping their drinks. Once Mycroft’s cup was empty, he settled down for more sleep and waited for his partner—the words had a nice ring to them—to settle as well. 

Greg drained his own mug and put it aside, then slid down under the duvet and rested his head on the pillows. Wrapped in the comfort, Greg dozed off again, but not before pushing back against the man behind him. Mycroft was warm and accepting, and comfortable, and wrapped an arm about Greg’s middle to pull him close. Greg fell asleep again almost immediately, exhaustion catching up with him again, lulled by the warmth and closeness. 

Allowing Greg into his bed was a no-brainer as far as Mycroft was concerned, but it left him in the rather uncomfortable position of being pressed against the object of his desire, his cock nestled in the cleft of Greg's bum, the man’s warm solid body against the rest of him. For a moment Mycroft marvelled that his life had come to this, and then he too found himself drifting asleep, unable to resist now he was sharing his bed with the one person he had never expected to share it with.

“Gregory, you’re awake at last.” Mycroft stood in the doorway, bearing two more mugs of steaming tea balanced on a small tray. Fragrant steam spiralled up around his face as he stood there, looking dapper in a paisley silk dressing gown over his pajamas, and sheepskin slippers on his feet. 

“They look warm,” Greg observed with a smile, his eyes on Mycroft’s feet. Mycroft followed his gaze and nodded. 

“You would be correct. They were a Christmas present from my mother. My feet are long and thin. Never conducive to good circulation.” He crossed the room and placed a mug on the bedside cabinet level with Greg’s head. “I brought tea rather than coffee again. We seem to be living on the stuff, however, a stimulant seems the last thing you need.” Mycroft placed a mug on the bedside cabinet again, taking his own to his own side of the bed. 

“Right now, I could go with a strong sedative. A medically induced coma for the rest of the week. That should see me right.”

Mycroft shuddered. “Please, Gregory, do not joke like that?”

“Ah, sorry, Myc. Too used to graveyard humour. I’m really sorry, didn’t mean to upset you.”

Mycroft sighed. “My apologies too. It’s not really upsetting, just...tasteless. However, It is not your fault if you seek refuge in humour, however dark.”

“It’s just what I’m used to, Myc, that’s all. It’s how you cope, you know?”

“Unfortunately, yes, I am familiar with high stress coping mechanisms. However, tea always seems to be a better alternative.” Mycroft smiled wryly. “It seemed to see us through the wars. Terribly British, but personally I do love an Earl Grey.”

“Yeah? Earl Grey is my preference too, although a good English Breakfast tea is nice. I am able to appreciate a properly brewed coffee though, I just don’t live on the stuff.”

“You like Earl Grey as well?” Mycroft said in a pleased tone. 

“Yes, I do. Lovely fragrant cuppa that.” 

“If you would like it, I can brew some to go with breakfast, which I shall of course make when you wish to rise. I am not assuming that will be soon, because you were very tired last night…”

“I’m okay, really. What time is it?”

“Barely 9.30am. Rest, Gregory. Take as long as you wish.” Mycroft paused. “Gregory…” He paused again, having difficulty in finding his voice on the matter he needed to discuss. “Last night...when I heard…noises, from your room…. You were...well, frankly, the only word I can muster is _moaning_ , in your sleep, and I had no idea what to do.”

Greg took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair, distracted. “If it disturbs you, I can go home…”

“Nonsense, Gregory. There is no need to apologise. However, you should talk to someone. If not me, then someone who is trained in such matters. You need to unburden yourself of the trauma that has caused you to suffer nightmares, and if you do not then you risk PTSD surfacing later to haunt you. I should not have to tell you how that may affect your work. I...want you to know, Gregory, that over the last few weeks, your absence has clarified how much I feel for you, and I have come to the realisation that you...that I feel...well, very deeply for you. It would be remiss of me not to say anything, not to advise you to seek help.”

Greg stared, voiceless. Mycroft cared about him. That much had been evident in the constant updates on the rebel activities in his area, the texts concerned with how he was holding up, the small messages of encouragement every other day. Greg hadn't erased them off his phone yet, unable to bring himself to wipe the words that told him how Mycroft felt, how much he worried but would never admit, fearing to influence Greg's mind. He didn't want it to look as though he was interfering but he wanted Greg to know he cared. To hear him say as much though, to hear it from his own lips… Greg reached for him, grabbing his arm, tugging Mycroft close. 

“Thank you, love,” he said softly, into the man’s neck. “I...it’s been a while since someone cared.”

“Of course I care, Gregory, otherwise I would never have suggested we enter into a relationship of any kind. Caring is...a prerequisite of being together. Will you talk to me? Can you?”

“I don’t...It’s just awful, Mycroft. I’ve seen terrible things. Kids ripped to bits by bombs, people dying on the table because there’s no blood. I...I even did a battlefield transfusion once, just because there was no other option.”

“What is that, exactly?”

“Not proper procedure, is what it is. It’s when you don’t screen the blood first, you hook a patient up to a live donor, and monitor the transfer of blood straight from that person’s veins.”

“Presumably of the same blood group.”

“Well, O negative can donate to pretty much anybody.”

“Did it save the patient?” A sigh was the only response. “Who was the donor?”

“I was.”

“Oh, I see. And the patient was a child?”

“Yes. I might not have done it otherwise. Got berated for it after. Ignored it though. I was...well, I’d have done the same again.” 

“But the patient died?”

“Three days later.”

“I see. Not the best outcome.”

“Not the best, but unfortunately too common. We lost a few that week…I mean, who does that to kids, Mycroft? Babies crying because they’ve been sliced open by shrapnel. Mothers crying because their babies are dead, Fathers just staring across a room at a blank wall, in shock after losing their whole bloody family. There was a little boy...Christ...he was covered in dust and blood and he’s just sitting there. Turned out he’d lost four members of his family in one go. Poor little fucker just sat there, traumatised into silence.” Greg sniffed. “All I wanted to do was hug the little mite, and I wasn't allowed to. All I could think of was my girls…”

“We live in a comparatively safe country, Gregory. We have no civil war, no bombs dropping, not much in the way of terrorist activity, and certainly we can go out on our streets without too much fear of dodging bullets.”

“Yeah, but those little buggers have no choice.”

“I will do my utmost, Gregory, I promise you, if I have any leverage in the matter, I shall see what I can do to hasten the process of negotiation and peace. I cannot promise anything, but if I can, I will.”

“Oh, Mycroft, if you could…” Tears welled, threatening to spill over. “Anything you can do would be amazing…” Greg sniffed. “Sorry…”

“Please, Gregory, I told you not to apologise. There is no need. You are a caring compassionate man who feels for his patients, and that is commendable. Do not apologise to me, you have no earthly need to do so.” Greg nodded, and sniffed again, and wordlessly, Mycroft passed him a handkerchief. He blew his nose noisily, and cleared his throat. “Continue to tell me what it was like, if you are able,” Mycroft instructed. “Were there any good outcomes?”

“Actually yes, we saved a huge number of people, but...it’s the ones you don’t save who you remember, I guess. The ones who die are the ones you failed…”

“I do not believe that for a moment,” Mycroft scoffed. “You tried as hard with every one of them, did you not?” “Yes, of course.”

“So, you cannot say you failed them. You gave them a chance they would not otherwise have had. If they succumbed to their injuries, then it was none of your doing. You worked to save them.”

“But we couldn’t do enough!”

“Au contraire, Gregory. Sometimes, you are unable to effect the amount of care needed to allow a person to overcome the shock and trauma. That is not your fault. You are merely constrained by time, your resources and your patient’s condition. I know I am not a doctor, but I do know that much. To an outsider, Gregory, you work wonders, and you should not berate yourself for not being able to work miracles.”

“Thanks, Mycroft, that means a lot.” A watery smile was directed his way. 

Mycroft smiled encouragingly.“Nothing more than you deserve,” he said gently. “What you don't deserve is to castigate yourself unnecessarily. You have no need to apologise to me, especially for anything not under your control. Allow me to help, to support you, or what use am I to you? What possible use will I be as your partner if I cannot do that?” Mycroft paused, watching the emotions chase across Greg's face, then the man leant swiftly in and placed a firm kiss on Mycroft's lips. Greg drew back quickly in case he had misjudged the situation, but Mycroft was smiling, albeit a little startled. In answer, he leaned toward Greg and returned the kiss, leaving the man in no doubt that this was right, for both of them. Deep brown eyes regarded him from mere inches away, and Mycroft felt himself falling, hard. Hands reached for him, slid around his back, pulled him close. He responded in kind, snuggling closer, burying his face in Gregory’s neck, inhaling his scent again, only this time much stronger. They sat like that for a while, curled towards each other in the bed, eventually shifting around to get more comfortable and settling down still entwined in each other’s grasp. Tea forgotten, both men were content to simply lie there, close and warm. 

“The worst bit about it,” Greg murmured, “was that I was away from you…” 

“Beg pardon?” Mycroft realised that this brain had nearly turned off and struggled to reboot it. Gregory was opening up to him. _Listen, dammit._

“I was away from you,” Greg repeated softly. “I know we don't know each other well, but…we seemed to be on the brink of something, and then I was off and away, and for all I knew, distance wouldn't make your heart grow fonder, and there'd be nothing when I got back, that you'd decide it was too much bother….” Mycroft placed a gentle finger on Greg's lips to still the rising verbal tide. 

“Shh,” he murmured, softly. “Be calm, Gregory. That is most definitely not the case, as you can see. We are together now so you can rest easy, and with regard to our future together, we shall see what we shall see.” The brown eyes regarding him crinkled at the corners. 

“Que sera, sera, hm?”

“Most assuredly, Gregory. Now rest, please. I am concerned for your continued good health.”

Greg snuffed a laugh and settled lower against the pillows. “Yes, sir,” he said, closing his eyes. 

“Right answer, Gregory,” Mycroft murmured and followed suit. 


	2. Meet The Parents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg is on holiday and Mycroft asks him if he will come away with him... Probably not what Greg had in mind but then, anywhere Mycroft is is beginning to feel like home...

“Good afternoon, Gregory. How are you feeling now?”

“Uhnff,” Greg replied, his voice muffled, peeking out of the covers at a rather happy Mycroft who was standing by the bed, tray in hand. “What time is it?”

“Sometime after two.”

“PM?”

“Yes, Gregory, two PM,” Mycroft confirmed. “I brought you breakfast in bed.” 

“Uh, really?” A slow smile spread across Greg’s face, and he struggled to sit up, shoving pillows behind him and straightening the covers before Mycroft presented him with the tray. “This is lovely of you, but isn’t it afternoon?”

“I believe the local cafe would refer to this as an ‘all-day breakfast’,” Mycroft replied with a smile. “Consider it lunch if you wish, but the fact remains that you still need looking after, Gregory. We established that last night, or maybe this morning, depending on your viewpoint. Your care of me has always been thoughtful, and I merely seek to return the favour.”

Greg picked up the knife and fork and tucked in. The cup of tea was perfect, the toast crisp, the bacon, beans and sausages all done to perfection. “You not having any?” he asked as Mycroft continued to sit on the bed and sip his own tea while Greg ate.

“I have already eaten,” Mycroft explained. “Gregory...I have been thinking. Would you consider coming away with me?”

“Away with you where?”

“Just...away. Somewhere not here.”

Greg laughed. “That’s what _away_ usually means. What exactly did you have in mind?”

“I...was thinking about approaching mummy and father, they always nag me to come home to visit…”

“You want to introduce me to your parents? Already?”

“Well…” Mycroft looked oddly troubled. 

“They don’t know about me yet, do they?”

“No, they do not. We have only just begun, Gregory. Our relationship is embryonic, to say the least. When on earth would I have had time to tell them, after all?”

“Point.” 

“Would you be amenable?”

“Is this you trying to book us a cheap holiday, or is it fulfilling some need in you?” Greg asked plainly, fixing Mycroft with a look.

Mycroft wasn’t sure if Gregory was joking or not. His eyes said he wasn’t being altogether serious but he wasn’t exactly joking either. “In truth...I don’t know. I...want you in my life, Gregory. That includes my parents being acquainted with you. However, I cannot pretend that such a situation does not bother me. I was with Victor for six years. In that time, Mummy grew to love him. Both she and father thought of him as a son. They were both devastated when he died and I do not want any potential reaction of theirs to put you off…”

“You think they might object?” Greg scrutinised Mycroft carefully. “If you’re not sure about yours, you could come meet mine...Well, my mum anyway. You already know dad.”

“Yes, I do, don’t I?” This was said with a certain amount of snark and Greg grinned shamelessly.

“Sorry, Myc. Look, if you want to take me home, then I don’t mind. Honestly.”

“But if you think it is too early…”

“Look, Mycroft, we’re friends. Surely you can bring a friend home without any problems?”

“Supposedly. I could introduce you as my friend, but honestly, Mummy will most likely see through it. She may well ask your intentions toward me. I feel bad exposing you to this so soon. I simply want you to have some time away. Somewhere you can relax and be cared for. This was a bad idea…”

“Mycroft, I don’t mind. Sooner rather than later, yeah?”

“Not unless you are sure. I would rather not have you stressed by the encounter…”

“Mycroft, I’ve said yes. It’ll be fine. Where do your parents live anyway?”

“Not too far away. Near Epping Forest. Look, if you agree to this… well, please feel free to tell my mother to bugger off if her questions prove too personal…”

“Mycroft! I cannot tell your mum to bugger off, ever.”

“I do not see why not, if she insults you by demanding to know if your intentions are honourable.”

“Mycroft, it’s friendly curiosity, not the third degree. That’s what mums are like. Mine is the same…”

“I beg to differ. You have not met my mother. I very much doubt she is from the same mould as any other mother on earth.”

Greg sighed and smiled encouragingly. “Come on, Mycroft, at least we can get this over with now, rather than later. When do you want to leave?”

They drove up later that same evening, following an impromptu call home, and despite Mycroft having to endure his mother’s questioning over the phone. He merely told her he had a friend who needed some time to rest after an arduous time abroad. She had not pressed the point and he had left it at that, sure she would grill Gregory when they arrived. They both threw some clothes into overnight bags, secured the house, and set off through the rush hour traffic of a London evening.

The traffic put them late, but they arrived eventually, and Mycroft parked the car on the drive in front of a lovely stone 'cottage' surrounded by trees. Greg got out, flexed his shoulders and gazed around him, smiling. He breathed deep, the soft scents of a country evening filling his nose. “This is lovely, Mycroft,” he said appreciatively. “What a place.” His gaze roamed over the warm stone, the roses around the door, the door itself; old and heavy and bracketed with forged iron hinges. The place looked old, had obviously been around for centuries and was set to stay that way for centuries to come.

“They bought this dower house when they retired. They sold the old place, it was far too big, and moved here. They’ve been happy here I think. It suits their needs.”

“Oo, roses,” Greg commented cheerfully, reaching to gently cup a velvety red rose in his palm. “Love those.” He inhaled the soothing scent and smiled contentedly.

“The garden is my mother’s pride and joy...Speak of the Devil,” Mycroft added as the door opened and a smallish woman appeared, her short white hair a cap on her head, her lined face soft-skinned but tanned, and grey eyes undimmed with age. They bored into Greg before passing to her son and she left the sanctuary of the cottage and marched down the garden path with intent. She was, Greg thought, a strikingly beautiful woman even in old age.

“Mycroft, at last. Where were you, I thought you must have had an accident!”

“Traffic, mummy. We did leave London rather later than intended. Now don’t pester Gregory, please. He is rather fatigued and would probably like nothing better than to rest.” Her eyes shifted from her wayward son to his guest again, looking Greg up and down, assessingly. Greg offered a beaming smile, although it was tinged with weariness.

“Mr Lestrade,” she offered warmly, her attitude changing abruptly. “Welcome to our humble abode.”

Greg nodded. “Thank you, Mrs Holmes. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He reached to grasp the lady’s hand gently in greeting. “I gather you had a pleasant time away?”

“Yes, thank you, we did, but our silly boys did not let us know the whole truth.” She glared at Mycroft, but did not elaborate. Greg could only assume she was talking about their health.

“Mummy,” Mycroft’s voice was pained. “You would have cancelled your trip and you know how much you were looking forward to it. Gordon and Brenda have been pestering you for years.”

“My sons’ health comes before some silly trip,” she snapped. “However, I gather thanks are in order,” she said to Greg. “You did wonders for both my boys and I am truly grateful even if they make me seem to be an uncaring harriden who puts my own pleasure before their wellbeing.”

Greg smiled, he couldn’t help himself. This was where both Holmes boys obviously got their stubbornness. A tall man appeared at the door. “Helen, dear,” he said. “Oh, there you are.” He ambled down the path toward them and came to a stop, placing his hands on his wife’s shoulders, for this was obviously Mycroft’s father. Mycroft had inherited the man’s features, including that prominent Holmes nose. 

“Archie, dear, this is Gregory Lestrade, the consultant who saved our boys.”

“Very pleased to meet you,” Archie said, thrusting out a hand and shaking Greg’s warmly. “I hope Helen has told you, we did not abandon our boys in their hour of need and we appreciate your care of them both.”

“I understand, sir,” Greg replied. “Sometimes one’s children can be...inventive with the truth?

“You have children, Mr Lestrade?”

“Yes, I do. Twin daughters.”

“Oh, how lovely,” Helen said. “How old are they now?”

“Seventeen going on seventy.” Helen chuckled, knowingly. 

“Father, mummy, could we?” Mycroft indicated going inside. “Gregory would doubtless like to rest before dinner.”

“Of course, Mikey, don’t fret. I was merely anxious to finally see you, considering you said you would be here an hour ago. Come along, let us go in. May I offer you tea, Mr Lestrade? Or something stronger?”

“Tea will be fine, thank you, and it’s Greg, Mrs Holmes.”

“Helen, please. Archie, would you do the honours?” She made gentle shooing motions to get them all moving.

When they stepped inside, a large farmhouse kitchen greeted them, a cream enamel Aga heating the place efficiently, a huge oak table dominating the room. Mycroft dumped their bags in the hall, and guided Greg into the kitchen, offering him the windsor chair at the head of the table. Greg sat carefully, finding it unexpectedly comfortable. Mycroft sat himself nearby while Archie switched on the kettle and Mycroft’s mother busied herself finding the china. 

“So, Greg, Mycroft tells me you’ve been abroad recently.”

“Yes. I volunteer my time every year with MSF.”

“MSF?”

“Sorry. Medecin sans Frontieres. We take emergency aid into various parts of the world, getting medical help to those who need it.”

“Oh, them. Of course I know what they do. Laudable use of your time and skills, Greg, but how on earth do you find the time?”

“He gives up his holiday time, quite generously,” Mycroft explained defensively. He was desperate for his mother not to think Gregory was shirking his own work. She shot him a look, but Mycroft did not see the curiosity in her eyes. 

“So you’ve just returned?” Helen enquired gently. Mycroft traded a warning glance with her but it was ignored. 

“Yes, we were in The Yemen.”

“Heavens above. That’s a war zone. What, Mycroft? I do watch the news occasionally.”

“Some parts are quite dangerous,” Greg agreed. “I was lucky we were in a safer area.” It was Mycroft’s turn to scoff. “Well it was,” Greg added, defensively. 

“Only through my intervention…”

“You kept us updated but you couldn’t influence where those bastards would strike next...Sorry, I am so sorry.” Greg blushed at his involuntary outburst. Helen was watching the exchange carefully, but she made no comment other than to reassure him. 

“That is quite alright,” she said. “I understand it cannot have been easy.”

“Well, Mycroft actually did quite a lot to make sure I and my colleagues were safe and well while we were there.”

“Mummy, Gregory is here to rest, not answer twenty questions,” Mycroft said testily. His mother ignored him again. 

“So, Greg, you are a consultant at our Mycroft’s hospital?”

“Yes, I am. Head of Cardiology. Been there nearly nineteen years.” 

“Nineteen?”

“Yup.”

“How long have you been there now, Mycroft, dear?”

“Just over a year. I was...asked to go, as you know,” Mycroft said.

“Yes, so you said. Mycroft told us he had been requested to take a seat on the Hospital Board by Her Majesty, no less.”

“Well, yes,” Greg said, responding to the slight note of disbelief in Helen’s voice. “My father confirmed that.”

“Your father?” Helen frowned. 

“Well, stepfather really.”

“Gregory’s father is Equerry to Her Majesty, mummy.” 

“I beg your pardon?” Helen’s eyebrows nearly reached her hairline. “Equerry? To Elizabeth?”

“Yes, Mummy.” Mycroft turned to Greg and smiled. “It was...quite ironic when we found out our mutual connection.” 

The kettle whistled and Archie made them all tea. They sat around the table to drink it, and Greg was struck by the resemblances between Mycroft and his parents, and not just the obvious physical ones. His mannerisms were his father’s, with a smattering of his mother’s expressions.

“Are you quite alright, Gregory?” Mycroft murmured. 

“Fine, thanks.” 

“If you require your bed, do please say so?”

Greg smiled. “I’ll tell you,” he reassured. He caught Mummy Holmes watching them again and smiled, disarmingly. She smiled back, unabashed. 

After an agreeable evening meal, Mycroft and Greg took a turn around the quiet garden, breathing in the scents of the outdoors and allowing the stresses drain away. Greg sought Mycroft’s hand and entwined their fingers. “You okay, love?”

“I am fine,” Mycroft sounded far from it.

“Mycroft, please, be honest,” Greg almost snapped. Mycroft sighed heavily. “I am wondering if this was a colossal mistake?” he said warily. 

“How so?”

“Mummy. She’s definitely giving you the third degree.”

“I’m fine. Honestly, I’m not distressed.” 

“That is a miracle,” Mycroft commented, stiffly.

“Yeah, well, she’s curious, and concerned, and she’s your mum. She wants to reassure herself that I’m not after your virtue…”

“Aren’t you? What a pity.”

“Never said I wasn’t, I just need to reassure your parents I’m the honourable sort…”

“You? You’re a rogue, Gregory Lestrade, through and through.”

“The rogue who saved your life.”

“Holding that over me now, hm?”

“Well I can say I’ve seen bits of you nobody else has.”

Mycroft chuckled. “You…” he stopped, turning away.

“Myc, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I...I was thinking, that’s all. Remembering.”

“Victor?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me about him?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“I want to know about the man who captured Mycroft Holmes’ heart.”

Mycroft swallowed, turned to face Greg, and said thickly, “He’s standing right here in front of me.”

Greg’s eyebrows lifted. “Seriously?”

There were unshed tears in Mycroft’s eyes as he regarded Greg, their fingers loosely entwined. Mycroft gave a watery chuckle and sniffed. “I feel as if I am betraying him somewhat, although I know he would have liked you, but I cannot live in an ivory tower, celibate and untouched. With Victor...I came alive, somehow. He and I were….best friends, confidants, lovers. We trusted the other implicitly. When he died, so did I. I have never felt such pain…” He felt the fingers in his tighten. “When he died, I lost a part of myself. I am not sure I have regained it yet. I am not sure I ever will. I do not understand how I could be of interest to you, Gregory, because I cannot give you my whole self, not now part of it has been torn away.”

“You are the person you are because of him, you know? Same way I am the person I am because of my ex-wife and my girls. You become something more, something different, something better. People add to you, and when they go, when that disappears, you change again. It’s less losing something and more...morphing into something else, like a caterpillar becomes a butterfly. Sometimes you become something that isn’t particularly nice, because of your pain, but sometimes, love can bring you back again, can change you again. You’ll never forget him, no more should you, but hopefully, I can numb that pain for you a little… I’m a doctor, I’m good at that kind of thing. Hope I can help you live again.” 

“Well, your care of my heart has been exemplary. You have kept it safe thus far.” 

“So you keep saying. I might believe you one day.”

They walked back to the house across the darkened garden, each in his own thoughts. 

Mycroft was pleased that mummy had given Greg a guest room. After all, it would have been majorly obvious had Mycroft declared Greg to be sharing his room. Maybe that was too soon. Greg was also fine with sleeping alone, just for now. He recognised Mycroft’s need to take things slowly with his parents and didn’t object to this enforced separation. Hell, they hadn’t even been together long enough for it to register as such. The room had an ensuite so he showered, got ready for bed, and was about to climb in when he heard the soft knock on his door.

“Yes?”

“Gregory?” 

Greg opened the door to see Mycroft, in his striped pajamas and silk dressing gown, standing on the threshold looking uncertain. “Mycroft, what’s matter?”

“Nothing, Gregory. I was merely wishing to say goodnight and hope you are...alright after...you know?”

“I’m fine. Come in, you daft berk.” He dragged Mycroft inside and closed the door. “Come here you,” he said, and pressed their lips together. He felt Mycroft tense, and then relax and felt it as his kiss was returned. When they broke apart, Greg smiled into those gorgeous blue eyes. They were standing so close he could see the flecks of grey in the blue. Currently, those eyes were looking back at him somewhat uncertainly. “Hey, everything is fine,” he said gently. “Things will be okay with your mum.”

“I hope so. I am terrified they take a dislike to you, or think this is too soon…”

“It’s your choice, Mycroft, not theirs, although I appreciate you don’t want a rift. I like your parents, you know. Case you’re interested.”

“I am glad you do,” Mycroft admitted. 

“Come on, go to bed. No sense you risking being caught in my bedroom…” He giggled. “I feel like a naughty teenager, not middle aged man with his partner.”

“Am I? Truly?”

“What, my partner? Of course you are, Mycroft. You and me, together. Us against the world, you know?”

“I feel wrong, going to my bed, alone, leaving you here.”

“It’s okay, love. It’ll be fine. You’ll see. Now go, or my resolve not to drag you into my bed will dissolve…” He swatted Mycroft’s behind and chuckled at the pout. He listened at the door, then opened it, swiftly checking the corridor outside. “Coast is clear, now get gone.” Reluctantly, Mycroft left, stealing a last quick peck on the lips before he vanished to his own room. 

“I’m glad for Mycroft,” Helen said, getting into bed. Beside her, Archie put his book down on his knees and regarded his wife of forty three years contemplatively. 

“It’s nice he has a friend,” he agreed.

“Archie, Greg is more than a friend, or I, as they say, am a Dutchman.” 

“You think so, hm?”

“Have you seen how they are together? Like they’ve been together for years. Something more comfortable than mere friendship, I think.”

“If you say so.” Archie thought for a moment. “If you’re right, you don’t think he’s rushing into this, do you?”

“It’s been two years, Archie. Did you honestly expect him to remain celibate for the rest of his natural?”

“Not at all, I’m merely concerned for his well being. He was devastated when Victor died, after all.”

“We all were, and that’s the problem. I think he doesn’t want to upset us, you know.”

“Upset us?”

“Yes. He knew what Victor meant to us, Archie. It’s obvious to a blind man that our little Mycroft has deep feelings for Greg. However, he was at pains to make me believe there is nothing but friendship between them. Now either that’s because those feelings are not reciprocated and he’s on a hiding to nothing…”

“Well, he is Mycroft’s doctor, after all. A little unethical to carry on a relationship with a patient…”

“Pish. I think Greg is a bit more intelligent than that,” Helen observed. “However, always good to make sure. No, if those feelings are reciprocated, then Mycroft does not want us to know, probably because he knows how we felt about Victor…”

“Do you honestly suppose Mycroft is planning on keeping Greg secret forever?”

“Doubtful. Greg’s own integrity will stop him doing that.”

“So…”

“So, either we let things lie, and allow them to have a restful holiday, but leave them separated by a partition wall, or we tell him we know, and allow them to spend their nights together properly.”

“Well, if it were me, you’d not keep me away long.”

Helen chuckled. “My knight in shining armour,” she smiled. “Alright then, a little motherly intervention is called for. Tomorrow,” she said, burrowing into her husband’s arms. “If they are one tenth as happy as you have made me, then they will be blessed.”

Archie kissed his wife and smiled back. “You are a schemer, Helen Victoria Holmes.”

“I am a mover and shaker, Steven Farraday Archibald, and don’t you forget it…”


	3. Parental Concern

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg meets Mycroft's parents

After Mycroft left, Greg found he couldn't sleep. He was tired, but somehow sleep would not come. He tossed and turned but despite the bed's comfort, he found no rest. A tentative knock on the door brought him out of a fitful doze. Levering himself reluctantly out from the warmth and comfort he went to see who it was. Mycroft was standing on the other side of the door, glancing furtively down the landing.

“Mycroft?”

“Gregory...er...may I enter?” he whispered.

“Of course. You okay?”

Mycroft waited for the door to be shut before replying in a forceful undertone as if scared he may be heard. “I am not _okay_ , Gregory. This is intolerable.”

“What’s the matter?”

“What’s the…? Gregory, we are separated, by little more than a single layer of brick, and I cannot conceive of suffering this for a whole week…I cannot sleep...”

Greg sighed. “Me too actually. However, you know the answer…”

“Gregory, you already know that I do not want to cause them undue pain…”

“Mycroft, you are going to tell them sometime, aren’t you?” Greg did not like the pause that followed his question. “Mycroft? Please tell me you don’t intend to keep me secret forever…” 

“No, of course not...but....”

“But?”

“Gregory, I have no idea what to do. If I tell them, I risk hurting them. If I don’t, I risk hurting you. I am damned if I do and damned if I don’t…Help me, please?”

“Tell them tomorrow. Get it over with…”

“I...I can’t! I just can't.” 

“Come here,” Greg said, drawing a reluctant Mycroft into his arms. “I understand this is...difficult for you. I did say this goes at your pace, not mine. Didn’t I?” Mycroft nodded into his shoulder. “So, as long as you tell them sometime, I can live with us being secret for a while.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I’m sure.”

“May I stay here with you for a while?”

“What, now?”

“Yes, I… I have no idea how I am going to survive a week in a separate bed.”

“Okay, look, let me set my watch for...let’s say 5am, and you can escape before your parents find out.”

Mycroft sighed heavily. “I suppose…”

“Myc, it won’t be forever. I cannot believe your parents wouldn’t be happy for you, you know? They’re good folks.”

“You do not know them….”

**00000000000**

“Archie,” Helen hissed in her husband’s ear.

“Wha…? Umph?”

“Oh, Archie, wake up!” Helen lay with her good ear cocked, listening.

“What, my dear? Do we have burglars?”

“Don’t be silly. Burglars wouldn't make it past our defenses. After all, it was Mycroft who had them installed.” 

“I suppose you’re right. So…”

“So, I hear movement. I think our little Mycroft is having an assignation…”

“Assignation? You make it sound very 007, dear. How do you know he isn’t visiting the toilet?”

“Because he has left his room, and his room has an ensuite? Honestly, Archie, sometimes I wonder about you.” She giggled. “However, I definitely think Greg is playing 007 to Mycroft’s M, don’t you?”

Archie smiled, despite his rude awakening. “I think, under the circumstances, we had best make sure things are….above board?”

“In what way?”

“I shall quiz the good doctor tomorrow, while you tackle our little lad. Make sure things are...out in the open, if you understand me.”

“I do indeed, Archie. Capital idea. Take things gently though. I cannot imagine Mycroft would thank us for interfering.”

**000000000000**

The insistent beeping going off in Greg’s ear prompted him to nudge his lover in the ribs to wake him. “Hey, beautiful? It’s time…”

“Time?”

“Yeah, time to get back to your room…”

“Oh…” Mycroft stretched, like a cat. “I regret this…”

“Why?”

“Maybe we should just tell them. Get it over with.”

“Well, your decision, pet. You tell me, I shall support you, you should know that.”

“I do, Gregory, thank you.” Mycroft rolled out of bed and grabbed his dressing gown. “I suppose it’s too early for tea?” 

“I could do with a couple more hours sleep to be honest. I am on holiday after all.”

Mycroft smiled and leaned in for a kiss. “Of course, my love. Sleep all you wish, but I think I will go to the kitchen and make tea. I shall bid you good morning, my dear, and I shall see you later.” They kissed again and Greg watched Mycroft leave, then snuggled down into the extreme comfort of the guest bed and dozed off without a problem. 

**00000000000**

Helen intercepted her son and his... _friend_ , as they came down to the kitchen, handing out cups of tea and shooing Greg into the living room to find a more comfortable seat. The man was obviously tired but he looked happy. One glance at Mycroft told her he had obviously slept well too. Smiling, she stopped him following Greg and pushed him to sit at the table. She took a seat opposite and regarded him with a serious expression across the big kitchen table. “Mycroft,” she began, her tone firm. He looked up, startled. “No need to look like that, dear. You remind me of the time I caught you and your brother scrumping apples from our neighbour.”

“Mummy, I…”

“Shush, Mycroft, just listen to your mother. Please do not treat me like an idiot.”

“I wasn’t aware that I was…”

“You know to what I am referring, Mycroft. I am not a fool, nor am I an old fuddy duddy, so take heed. You and Gregory...Are you two in a relationship?”

“Mummy, really, I… Gregory and I are...merely friends....”

“Mycroft, stop, please. There is no need to protect him from us you know?”

“I am not protecting anyone…”

“Yes, you are. Mycroft, I want you to know that I am _pleased_. We both are. I understand if you are worried about how your father and I might view it, considering Trevor, but...well, honestly, we never expected you to stay single the rest of your life…”

“Mummy…I…” Mycroft paused, uncertain. He hadn’t expected his mother would have seen through their deception so quickly. 

“Gregory is a lovely man. My only misgiving is that he is your doctor. I shouldn't have to tell you how unethical that is…”

“He is not my doctor!” Mycroft said quickly. “Not since…” Aware that he was giving their secret away, he sighed. “Mummy, he handed my case over to one of his team, before he left to go abroad. He has only just got back and seriously, we did not decide on anything until two days ago. So, please, this is...early days. Very early days…”

“I knew it,” she said, happily. “Oh, Mycroft, no matter what happens, you must understand that your father and I support you. Victor was lovely, but Gregory is….well, you have picked a good one there. The way he looks at you…” She sighed, misty eyed. 

“The way he looks at me?”

“Yes, darling. Like you are his world. He may not realise he’s doing it, but it’s there. It reminded me of how your father looks at me sometimes.”

“I see.”

“Oh, darling, come along. Victor would have liked him, you know,” she said softly. 

“Yes, I believe so too.” Mycroft and his mother shared a look then, one of complete understanding.

**000000000000**

“Good morning, Gregory...” Archie greeted him as Greg entered the living room. He peered over his newspaper and smiled kindly.

"Good morning, sir," he replied. “Just Greg will do though.” He sat down on one of the large comfortable chintzy sofas and leaned back in his seat with a sigh of contentment. Helen had furnished him with a cup of tea and shooed him through to the living room, ostensibly to find somewhere more comfortable to relax other than a stiff backed kitchen chair. He was vaguely surprised when Mycroft didn't immediately follow him but it was highly likely Helen had intercepted him to chat.

“You must call me Archie, please, dear boy. Glad to see you’re relaxing. Mycroft says you’ve had a stressful time.”

“A little…”

"Commendable work, however."

"Thank you, Archie."

“So, you and Mycroft, hm?”

“Pardon, si...Archie?”

Archie levered himself out of his chair and headed to a cabinet by the fire place. “Drink?” he offered.

“Oh, er… thanks...what have you got?”

“A passable sherry, Lagavulin, Talisker Skye, Brandy, port… pimms…”

“It's a bit early for whisky. Sherry would be good.”

“A sherry it is then. So... yes, you and Mycroft.”

“Er...there is no _me and Mycroft_ …”

“Come now, no need to be coy, my lad.”

“Coy?” Greg grinned, goodnaturedly. “I think I might have problems with coy, Archie. Not my style at all.”

“Well, what would you call it?" Archie inquired, equally goodnatured. "You obviously have feelings for the lad.”

“Well, yes, I do. We’re good friends....”

“Look, son,” Archie said kindly, passing Greg his drink, “I know you are probably protecting Mycroft’s position in all this, but there is no need, you know. If you and he are… together, well, we’re happy for you both. I know he worries about how we might feel. Doubtless he’s told you all about Victor.”

“Yes, he has. Sounds like a lovely man.” 

“He was, yes. We all felt a great deal for him and it was a huge blow when he died. Mycroft took it particularly hard.”

“I know he did. It’s hard when you lose someone like that so suddenly.”

“Mycroft has always been the softer one of the two. Look, son, my only concern is that you are the doctor who performed his surgery…”

“Let me stop you there,” Greg said firmly. “Before you jump to conclusions, I am no longer his doctor.”

“You aren’t?”

“No. I passed his casefile to one of my team before I shipped out to the Yemen. She’s perfectly competent, you’ve no need to worry on that score…”

Archie smiled. “That’s good, sensible. So… you and Mycroft are obviously more than friends then.”

“Archie...Look, I don’t want to be rude but...until I’ve spoken to Mycroft, I can’t say more. I...it would put us both in a difficult position, and I have no reason to do that.”

“I understand, but you must understand this. Our son’s happiness is of paramount importance, and if you make him happy, then neither I nor Helen will stand between you. Victor meant the world to us, but Mycroft means more. Make him happy, Greg. He deserves someone in his life.”

Greg sighed. “If he’ll let me, I will. You have my word on that.”

“Here’s to you both, Greg.” They clinked glasses. 

**00000000000**

“She knows!”

“He knows…” Greg and Mycroft stopped and stared at each other, their words colliding in the air and bringing them both to a standstill.

“So they both know,” Mycroft said. 

“Come on, Myc. If one knew then it’s a fair bet they both would. They talk to each other, after all.”

Mycroft sighed. “How was father?”

“Very supportive. And before you say it, I admitted nothing, he just assumed. I told him I couldn’t say more until I talked to you, but I told him I was no longer your doctor. That was all that seemed to concern him.”

“I am afraid I was...well, I couldn’t lie to her. I told mummy that too, that you had passed my case to one of your colleagues.”

“Your father was concerned that I make you happy.”

“Then he will not be disappointed.” 

“Do I though?”

“You have so far.”

“Well, where do we go from here?”

“I think...it might be a good time to properly confess to them, apologise for...well, for not telling them.”

“Okay, no time like the present then.”

**00000000000**

“Mummy, father,” Mycroft announced, walking into the kitchen hand in hand with Greg. “We have something we should tell you both.”

“Shall I put the kettle on?” Archie got up and went to the sink to fill the kettle. “Tea?”

“Please,” Greg said.

“Father...please, we are trying to say something here.”

“And you can say it while he works,” Helen said with a grin. “What is the matter, boys?”

“We are...that is to say, Gregory and I are...well...I know you already know but... we are together. Dating. Stepping out. Boyfriends…Although I find that word detestable and it goes no distance to describe what we are to each other. We both felt that after our respective conversations with the two of you, we should present ourselves to you together…to formally declare our intent, as it were."

"And apologize," Greg offered. "I know it was a bit off that we kept it to ourselves but...well, we hope you understand why."

Helen clapped her hands in delight. “There is no need to apologize, either of you. This is wonderful news, and thank you for telling us properly.” She got up and closed the distance, taking Greg in a proper hug. “I am so happy for you both. Now you can stop that stupid charade and share a room. How on earth you expected to survive being separated for a whole week, I don’t know.” 

Mycroft blushed and stammered, but Greg pulled him into a hug and chuckled. 

“Thank you, Helen. I promise I’ll look after him.” 

“Gregory…” Mycroft protested weakly, but Greg only grinned wider and held him closer.

**000000000000**

Lying in Mycroft’s bed that night, Greg grinned happily as he lay with his head on his lover’s shoulder. No words needed to be spoken, both men were content just to feel each other’s heart beating. Mycroft trailed his fingers through the hair at the nape of Greg’s neck, while Greg nuzzled against Mycroft’s chest, inhaling his warm scent. _However long we have_ , Greg thought, _it will never be enough,_ but he was glad they had got to this point. More was awaiting them, and they would travel that road together. He sighed softly, feeling the fingers at his neck stroke gentle circles, soothing him to sleep. He knew he would have to tell his daughters sometime soon too, but honestly, he had few qualms about that. He smiled contentedly, and drifted gently to sleep. 


	4. Home Is Where The Heart Is

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft shows Greg the local town. A bit of fluff for our boys. Unexpectedly, we have a slight cross over with Hot Fuzz, because I couldn’t resist the town of Sandford where Nicholas Angel ended up. It felt so like the one where Mr and Mrs Holmes might reside, sans murderous residents of course, but an incident like that would have intrigued Sherlock...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has come to a natural ending but I am not done yet. I'm going to add more to this series, so watch this space. I do want to work on the others though, so we shall have to see.

Greg woke up early, as he often did, his internal programing not allowing him to sleep late. Awareness crept up on him slowly, and he cracked an eye open on the soft light of morning creeping under the curtains, illuminating the cozy room around him. He was hyper-aware of several sensations; the warmth of the covers over him, the cold patch on his exposed shoulder, the scent of the warm man beside him. There was a breeze coming from the partially open half-light of the bedroom window, carrying with it the fresh scents of the countryside. He shivered a little, feeling Mycroft’s weight shift beside him as the man moved closer and slipped an arm around his middle. Warm breath raised goosebumps along Greg’s neck as Mycroft placed a sleepy kiss against his skin. 

“Sorry, love,” Greg murmured. “Did I wake you?”

“Not at all, my dear. Did you sleep well?” 

“Mm, very well. You?”

Mycroft smiled lazily. “I find myself very well rested.”

“Good. So what we up to today?”

“Far too early to even think about,” Mycroft complained gently, snuggling closer. “Today is ours. We can do nothing, or find distraction in any number of ways, just as we please. I for one would appreciate the chance to relax.”

“Me too. So...more sleep?”

“With pleasure. Assuming you are happy with such an arrangement? You are awake rather early.”

Greg smiled. “Yeah, sorry. Afraid my body clock is set like that. I’m usually on the wards for eight in the morning, ready for ops at nine. That usually meant being up at six otherwise I couldn’t get to work on time. Even though I’m lodging at the hospital now, I’m still not out of the habit and six weeks away hasn’t had any effect either. However, more sleep is fine by me.” Greg stretched and yawned, flexing his shoulders and toes. Then he settled again, scrubbing fingers through the short strands of his silvering hair before rolling toward his lover and wrapping the man in a close embrace. 

Mycroft found himself snuggled against Greg’s chest. _God help me, I have found myself a cuddler._ He smiled, and settled into the comfort, his breathing evening out and his body relaxing, safe in Greg’s arms. Mycroft felt that it was quite the most comforting feeling in his entire life, surpassing that of his mother, and even, he thought with reluctance, Victor.

 _I wonder if you left me, my love,_ he thought, _because Gregory was waiting in the wings?_ He smiled to himself at the notion, considering himself unaccountably lucky. To have found two soulmates in one lifetime, who was ever that blessed? _And Greg is my soulmate,_ he thought, _irreversibly, unequivocally._ He felt quite giddy. 

“You okay, love?” Greg asked sleepily.

“Indubitably,” Mycroft murmured gently.

His lover chuckled. “Does anyone even say that any more?”

“I believe I just did, Gregory.” That statement elicited another chuckle.

“Sassy of a morning, aren’t we?” Greg chuckled as Mycroft huffed softly. 

“Oh, go back to sleep,” he muttered, amused, and cuddled closer, eyes drifting closed. Beneath his ear, Greg’s breathing evened out and the two men slipped easily back into quiet restful slumber. 

Helen Holmes had a hard time keeping a grin from her face when the two men eventually made it downstairs mid-morning. She was sitting at the kitchen table, reading her women’s magazine and sipping tea, carefully ignoring that they came in hand in hand. 

“Good morning, boys,” she trilled. “Tea?”

“Thank you, mummy.” Mycroft slid into a seat and Greg slid into the one next to him, carefully maintaining as close a position as possible. 

“Thank you, Helen,” Greg said, sliding an arm around his lover’s waist. Mycroft leaned into the warm body beside him and smiled contentedly. 

Helen rose and went to the cupboard for more cups, popping some bread into the toaster on the way. “Toast? Or something more substantial?”

“Toast is fine,” Mycroft said, glancing at Greg, one eyebrow arched quizzically.

“Sure, that’s fine with me,” Greg agreed. He watched Helen move about the kitchen, finding butter in the fridge, pulling out a bottle of marmalade from a cupboard. He was content to sit close by Mycroft, happy that they were now able to relax around Mycroft’s parents, content that there was no more need to conceal their relationship. He leant his head on Mycroft’s shoulder, feeling the other man reciprocate by turning his face to press a soft kiss to Greg’s hair. 

“Actually,” Mycroft began, resting his hand over Greg’s where it lay on the table, “I rather thought we might go for lunch somewhere today…”

“Oh, what a good idea,” Helen agreed. “You could show Greg the local town. You could walk there. It isn’t far when you take the right of way across the fields, only a mile or so, and the weather is lovely today. The church is rather old, quite worth taking a look. There’s a village green with a maypole, and the center has a market cross and cobbles. There’s a small art gallery...It’s Market Day today too, I think. You could take a basket with you and bring me back some more bread,” she suggested as the toast popped up. “Seeing as how you two are eating me out of house and home. There’s a lovely tea room there, very traditional. Although their clotted cream will put inches on your waistline,” she warned.

“Mummy, Greg is a heart surgeon. If anybody knows the dangers of cholesterol, I am sure he does.”

“Sometimes wish I didn’t,” Greg said with a grin. “Clotted cream tea sounds wonderful though.”

“Even so, it is probably not a good idea for me,” Mycroft said sadly. 

“You know, you need to take care of yourself, Mycroft, but that also includes eating the things you enjoy. Just don’t do it every day and don’t over indulge.” 

“Alas, my weight has always been difficult to control. When I was younger I was somewhat...chubby. Sherlock never lets me forget it.”

“Sherlock can keep his opinions to himself. You’re not overweight, love.”

Mycroft looked sharply at Greg and frowned. “Gregory…”

“Nope, not going to listen to any bollocks...Oops, sorry, Helen.” Greg blushed a little and Helen smiled at his slip as she passed him his toast. “But seriously, Mycroft, no. You are not fat, you are perfect. Your weight was fine when we checked it before your op, and you haven’t changed. If there were any concerns we would have raised them back then.”

Mycroft opened his mouth to reply, but his mother overrode him, placing a cup of tea in front of her son and stalling him with a hand on his shoulder. “Mycroft, listen to the man. After all, you just acknowledged that he was the expert.”

“Mummy…”

“Well, you did,” Greg said, reaching for his hot buttered toast, eyes dancing.

Mycroft huffed again. “You are incorrigible, Gregory…”

“But you love me anyway?”

“God help me, I do,” he said, wonderingly. 

The walk was lovely, Greg had to admit. Considering it was only a few days since he had arrived back, the weather had done its British best to alter drastically and winter seemed a distant memory. Greg was glad he had thought to bring his lightweight jacket and chinos. Matched together with a blue polo shirt and tan loafers, he was casually dressed but still smart enough that he wouldn’t feel out of place if Mycroft chose a posh place to eat. Mycroft too was casual but had chosen a sky blue shirt and dark blue jeans, somewhat out of character for him, but Greg liked it. He had never seen him so relaxed. They took the back lane through the fields, a bridle way that lead to the rear of the church yard, walking unhurriedly and enjoying the countryside around them.

“I will warn you, I will be recognised and most probably waylaid in the street,” Mycroft confessed as they walked.

“Oh?”

“Yes, I am afraid so. I will have to play nice and chat,” he said.

Greg grinned. “Sounds like that isn’t your favourite pastime,” he suggested.

“Not in the slightest,” Mycroft agreed. “However, my parents are staunch supporters of country living, they play prominent roles in the local community. Everybody knows them, and so everybody knows me, and Sherlock.”

“Um...do they know you’re gay?”

“Yes, actually. My parents declared it to their friends and to the community at large shortly after I came out, and promptly announced that if anybody had a problem with it, the town could count itself cut off from their support and they would gladly take their patronage to Sherrinford down the road. Nobody complained. Apparently, they now have a Pride week every August.”

Greg chuckled. “Movers and shakers, your parents, hm?”

“Oh, yes indeed. Well, Mummy is the prime mover but father is no slouch. They’ve invested heavily in the area, and they lend the meadow out behind the house to host the annual pony club show. My mother is the Chair of the Gardening and Flower Arranging Club, she is on the committee of the Church Fete, she holds a monthly young mothers group at the church hall, and a bridge club at home. My father volunteers at the library, plays in the local cricket team, and offers his services to the over-fifties advocacy group. He used to be a lawyer.”

“What did your mum do?”

“Mummy was a mathematician, a professor at the University of London. Gave it up to have us.”

“Seriously?”

“Oh yes, she turned to writing books. They are somewhat niche, but successful in their own right.”

“Good for her. What does she write, novels?” 

“Heaven forfend. No, her subject is applied maths and she writes mostly academic works. However small the market, the royalties have done no harm, believe me.”

“Is that where you get your organisational abilities from?”

“What? Oh, yes, I suppose. Quite possibly.”

The two men lapsed into silence for a while, walking slowly in the warmth, following the lane between the fields. They briefly passed into welcome shade from a piece of woodland, large chestnut trees flanking the path for a good two hundred yards. The lane was rutted, grass growing down the center, a ditch either side, flanked by hedges of blackthorn, hawthorn and elder. Birdsong filled the air and Greg inhaled, drawing the soft scents of the grass and flowers into his lungs. Far better than London air, he reflected. 

A rhythmic thudding reached their ears and Mycroft grabbed Greg’s arm and guided him gently to the side of the lane, into a gateway, just as three horses appeared around the bend, their riders urging them at a good clip along the rutted ground.

“Morning,” the leader offered, raising her crop.

“Good morning,” Mycroft answered politely. 

“Mycroft?” The third rider said suddenly, reining in her hunter and turning him in a circle to face the two men. “Mycroft Holmes, is that you?”

“Penny?”

“Yes. Good God, it must be years. How are you?”

“Fine, Penny. Yourself?”

“Never better. Nigel divorced me three years ago. Never looked back.”

Mycroft smiled. “Good to know you’re happy, Pen. You take care now.”

“You in town for a while?” She glanced curiously at Greg who smiled, but Mycroft declined to introduce them. 

“Only until week’s end. We’re heading into town for some shopping for mummy today. Mustn’t be long.”

“Okay. We should catch up. Maybe have a pint at the Dirty Duckling. Bring your friend.” She spurred her horse to catch the others who were waiting impatiently for her. 

“Who was that?”

“Sorry I didn’t introduce you. That was Penny Wellborough. Dreadful gossip, always after someone else’s man. She’ll do her best to seduce you, Gregory. No doubt.”

Greg laughed. “Well, she won’t get far. Did she ever hit on you? On Victor?”

“She tried. Failed utterly, but she still tried, even after she knew we were both gay. Utterly shameless and I am in no doubt that she’s got you in her sights now.”

“No need to worry on that score. I’m not up for being hit on by the village bicycle.”

Mycroft giggled. “An apt, if unfortunate, epithet.”

“Yeah, well, doesn’t sit well with me when either men or women do that,” Greg growled. “She’s one of the reasons marriages break up.” 

“Your wife only took one lover, didn’t she?”

“Yes, I can’t tar her with quite the same brush, but still...the PE teacher was married, so effectively she broke up two marriages.” 

“Takes two to tango, Gregory,” Mycroft said. “The PE teacher was not blameless in that.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Greg agreed. “Still…” Mycroft was silent for a while, then he giggled suddenly. “What’s so funny?” Greg asked.

“Nothing. Just...it’s almost tempting to accept her invitation to a drink.”

“Just so you can get a front row seat to see her taken down a peg.”

“More than a single peg, Gregory. I would expect nothing less from you than to bring the whole damn clothesline down.” 

The town was lovely, but Mycroft had been right. By the time they had reached the tea rooms, they had been stopped four times. Mycroft seemed to be a favourite with little old ladies, who always asked him how he was, how it was such a shame he didn’t visit more often, and would he remember them to his darling mother? Always courteous and kind, Mycroft paused every time to listen, to offer warm greetings, and always introduced Greg as his new partner. Each time the ladies cooed and smiled happily and seemed genuinely happy he’d found someone. It was like something out of a romance novel. 

The cafe Mycroft chose was full to bursting with typically British market town charm. There were exposed beams on the ceiling above their heads, plush carpet beneath their feet, and a vintage tearoom mix of mismatched china, lace tablecloths, and a pine dresser sporting everything from Toby jugs to willow pattern plates on its polished shelves. There was the usual smattering of art on the walls; watercolours of local scenes and a couple of oil paintings of dogs, all being sold by local artists. Another narrower dresser held a display of preserves for sale, all made by a local farm. A noticeboard near the door held business cards for everything from landscape gardeners to chiropractors, and there was a helpful rack of leaflets covering the local attractions to encourage visitors. It all combined to make Greg feel very much as though he was on holiday.

“This cafe takes its job as the hub of the town to heart, as you can see,” Mycroft agreed as they took a seat in a quiet corner. “Sandford does have a reputation as a floral town, and a bit of a tourist spot.”

“It is rather picturesque,” Greg observed. 

“It takes its Englishness very seriously,” Mycroft explained. “It is very traditional. There’s a river with very charming views, the green still has a maypole and we hold an annual summer agricultural show. There are school fetes, the young people roll ‘pace eggs’ down the local hillside every Easter. The town hosts a rather large music festival every year and we also seem to win the regional title of Floral Town of the Year on a semi-regular basis.” 

“ _Very traditional_ seems to be an understatement, but it’s a pretty place. Everyone seems to like you.”

“Everyone is well aware of my parents’ status…”

A young woman in a neat uniform came to take their order, welcoming them with a smile and handing over menus. They ordered omelets and Earl Grey tea, and scones with jam and cream, and Greg was pleased to note that Mycroft, while allowing himself to be persuaded to eat the scones, was by no means overindulging. Since his operation he had been at pains to make sure his diet was healthy, and that he was looking after himself. He finished every last leaf of the salad that accompanied his omelet. Greg felt himself warm at the thought that Mycroft was taking care of himself. He hoped that he was at least partly the reason. 

After lunch, they made their way to the market. By the time they arrived, they had been stopped another three times, once even by the police.

“Mycroft Holmes?” A uniformed police officer paused them just before they got to the market square. The man was in his early forties, if Greg was any judge, short blond hair above blue eyes that shone with an intelligent curiosity.

“Nick?” Mycroft was surprised, but in a pleasant way, going by the warmth in his eyes.

“Yeah, how are you? You look well.”

“I am well,” Mycroft replied. “Content, too and rather happy.”

“Well, that’s good. Look, I...er...I heard about...about Victor, from your mum. I’m really sorry. I’ve not seen you since and...well, hate sending cards. Figured I’d wait to offer condolences. Hope that was okay? Don’t want you to think I didn’t care...”

“Of course, yes, that’s fine, thank you.” Mycroft was a little stiff, but smiled nevertheless. “I...er...I know what you mean about cards. They can be somewhat trite. It was a shock, I have to admit, and I miss him, but...it’s been two years.” Mycroft watched Nicholas’ eyes flick to Greg and he smiled. “Life moves on, I’m afraid…”

“Yeah, it does, doesn’t it? So...you going to introduce me?” There was a cheeky streak to the man in the grin he shot Mycroft’s way.

“Oh, sorry, yes. Sergeant Nicholas Angel, Greg Lestrade.”

“Inspector now,” Nicholas said, extending a hand which Greg shook warmly. 

“Nice to meet you,” Greg said warmly. 

“Gregory is Head of Cardiothoracic Surgery at the hospital where I am administrator.”

“Really? Well, welcome to Sandford, Doctor.”

“It’s Mister, really, I’m a consultant, not a doctor, but call me Greg, please.”

“Ah, okay then. So...Greg, Mycroft, either of you fancy a drink later? I’d love to catch up.” 

“We are on a mission for mummy at the moment. We have groceries to buy, and we are on foot, but we could drive out later this evening. Where did you have in mind?”

“Might be better to get out of town for a while. How about the Rose, in Sherrinford?”

“Sounds good,” Mycroft said. “When does your shift end?”

“Around six thirty, so shall we say seven?”

“I look forward to it.” 

“You need a lift home when you’re done here? I can have a car take you…?”

“No, thank you all the same. The walk is very pleasant, if you take my drift?”

Nick grinned. “Yeah,” he said, casting a glance up at the blue sky. “Completely understand.” He looked back at Greg. “There are some very attractive views. See you both at seven then.” 

“So...who is he then?”

“Nicholas? Oh, he’s a very nice young man who was seconded to Sandford about ten years years ago. The place was lacking new blood and the powers that be felt that it might benefit from someone of Nicholas’ caliber. He resented it mightily. He was set to rise in the London Met, but suddenly he found himself here, in the proverbial back of beyond. I...helped him settle in.”

“Was this before Victor?”

“Yes, it was.”

“So...you two have history?”

“Not in the way you imagine, Gregory.”

“Well, it wouldn’t matter if you had, you know.”

“Thank you, but we didn’t. He’s majoritively straight, despite a healthy attitude to equality. No, I was just...well, back home visiting my parents for a while, and he was propping up the bar in the Crown looking rather lost. So I introduced myself and found out who he was, invited him to tea at home and it went from there. Mummy has a way of making people feel welcome and he soon settled in, although he missed London for a long time.”

“No plans to go back there?”

“I shouldn’t think so. He met a lovely girl from the next village and he’s settled down now. I think he actually likes it here. Less stress. The crime level is very low, we get the odd theft now and then. We had a murder last year, next village along, but that was a grudge match between two farmers, been building for years. Stray swans, lost cats, disputes between neighbours, but rarely anything significant. Idyllic really. The most action he sees is the Music Festival because it draws people from outside the area. It’s no Glastonbury, but it can get a bit rowdy, and there is always the chance of people distributing illegal substances.”

“Not like Midsomer Murders then?”

Mycroft chuckled. “Dear me, no, Gregory. I have yet to work out how they have anyone left in that series. What is the body count now?”

“Three hundred and counting,” Greg said with a smile. 

“We are an oasis of peace by comparison,” Mycroft reassured him. 

By the time they made it to the fruit and veg stall, and completed their purchases, Mycroft had been stopped a further three times, two of those offering condolences and all of them tut-tutting again at how long it had been since he had last been seen in Sandford. That didn’t include the stallholder, Mrs Jeffreys, who served them and who also wanted to know the far end of everything as well. Mycroft always offered apologies but made excuses that his work kept him away, etc, etc, and how lovely it was to see whoever it was who had waylaid him… Greg watched from the sidelines, amused by the ease with which Mycroft conversed with his parents’ neighbours and friends. Mycroft pulled him forward to be introduced and fussed over, to have his hand shaken warmly, and to be welcomed into the fold. Bemused, he walked back alongside Mycroft who had adopted a rueful expression as they retraced their steps behind the church and headed home. 

“Friendly, aren’t they?” Greg commented, grinning. “Your townsfolk.”

“You make me sound like the local Lord of the manor,” Mycroft said. “They are not _my_ townsfolk. However, I cannot say I didn’t warn you,” he added. “They are nothing if not vocal in their welcome.”

“That you did, but I have to admit I hadn’t realised how true it was going to be.”

“Yes, well, now you know. I hope it wasn’t too taxing?”

“Not at all. We going out for drinks tonight then? Nick seemed like a good bloke.”

“He is, and yes, if you wish. Only if you are up to it though.”

“I’m fine. Be nice to get out of the house, socialise a bit.”

“Yes, it will. It actually will.” Greg glanced at Mycroft. That had sounded very sincere. The man was sauntering along with a half-smile on his lips, a contented expression that made Greg smile in response. They completed their journey in companionable silence.

**00000000000**

The Rose was a gastro-pub in the next village, a rambling Victorian place with a beer garden bordered by a canal. A few narrow boats were moored up and there were plenty of people enjoying the mild evening outside. A pretty dark-haired woman was standing beside Nick when they arrived, whom Nick introduced as Rachel, his wife.

“So, what do you do, Rachel?” Greg asked, fishing for conversation. 

“I'm a counsellor,” she said, cheerfully. 

Greg smiled. “I'm in need of one of those.” He didn't miss the look Mycroft shot at him. 

“Oh? Might one ask why?” she enquired.

“Just got back from a six week tour with Doctors Without Borders. It was…traumatic, to say the least.”

“Where were you based?” 

“The Yemen.” 

“Jesus, that's a bit of a war zone, isn't it?” Nick asked. 

“Exactly. We take medical help to where it's needed most. It was…a bit too dangerous, this time.”

“This time? You done this before then?” 

Greg nodded and gulped his beer. “This was my sixth, and most probably last, time.” 

“If you would like me to, I can put you in touch with a good counsellor,” Rachel offered. “I won't offer my services, because of patient confidentiality, but I know someone who is very good. She's based in London though.”

“That's fine, so am I.”

“Give me your number before you go, I'll text you her contact details.”

The rest of the evening passed pleasantly. The two couples chatted, joked, laughed, and Mycroft unexpectedly found himself very much at home. On the way home however he decided to ask Greg what had prompted him to be so open about his desire to seek therapy. 

“You did,” he said, simply. 

“Me?” 

“Yes, you. Look, Mycroft, if we are doing this, if we're going to be in a proper relationship, them you deserve nothing less that for me to be the best I can be, and if that entails me seeking a counsellor to put me back on an even keel, then that's what I shall do.”

Mycroft was silent at that, but his pleased expression told Greg everything he needed to know to understand that he'd made the right decision. 

A text arrived soon after they had set off for home. 

“Rachel just texted me the details of her counsellor friend,” Greg said. “Her name's Kristen Fox. She's round the corner from where we are.”

“Convenient too. What are her qualifications?” 

“She has a bunch of letters after her name…” Greg paused to read them off. “BScPC, MBACP.”

“So the woman has a degree in psychiatry and counselling, and is a member of the main body for counselling and psychotherapy in the country. Excellent credentials so far. Will you call her tomorrow? Make the initial overture?”

“I'll see how I feel.” Greg remained cagily non-committal. Mycroft nodded but didn't push. He knew better than to try pressing Gregory into something. It would only be counter intuitive. 

They passed the next few minutes in silence, Greg staring out the window thoughtfully. 

“At least,” he said eventually, “if I call her now, I can set the ball rolling.”

Mycroft allowed himself a smile that he had judged correctly. 

As they snuggled in bed that night, Mycroft held him close, stroking his hair. 

“Thank you, Gregory.” 

“What for?” 

“For making me feel important in your life. For using me as your motivation to seek help, which out of interest I consider to be a rather brave thing to do.”

Greg smiled against Mycroft's chest, and laid a soft kiss there. “I owe it to both of us,” he said, “and I trust you to keep my heart safe.”

“Forever, Gregory,” came the gentle reply. “I will never cease to do so.” 


End file.
